


Sophistication and Suffering Collars

by captainlandwhaleamerica



Category: Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst, But Give Me A Chance, Darcy is a Walnut, Darcy's pov, Diary/Journal, I know it sounds pretty dumb, but we love him, but you knew that, some canon divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2018-10-12 04:11:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10481775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainlandwhaleamerica/pseuds/captainlandwhaleamerica
Summary: "It is a truth universally acknowledged that when Charles conceives a so-called “adventure” it will inevitably end in humiliation for him and discomfort for me."So this originated from a Tumblr textpost and a belligerent best friend who implored me to imagine if Fitzwilliam 'Human Disaster' Darcy kept a journal of his time in Hertfordshire. I thought it was going to be super boring, but lo and behold, I can't stop writing this. I'm sort of blending the events of the 2005 film and the book, with some direct quotes from the film. Chapters are short, but there will be many. You have been warned. Enjoy! :)





	1. Chapter 1

Dear Diary,

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when Charles conceives a so-called “adventure” it will inevitably end in humiliation for him and discomfort for me. But the landscape I find myself staring at the moment is more abhorrent than I ever could have imagined. The road is bumpy, the journey slow, and Caroline’s narration of her displeasure particularly grating. God forbid such negativity deter Charles’s enthusiasm for the "splendid, captivating, regal Netherfield Park", and he stares out the window with a grand smile on his face, as if a lifetime dream of his was coming true before his eyes. I suppose the countryside has a certain ambiance that could be considered appealing by people like Charles, with the rolling hills of green augmented by an occasional tree or house. Certainly different from Pemberley's meticulously curated forests, the countryside near Meryton is wild and distinctly untampered with. It feels so separate from the rest of the world, from civilization and order. There’s a cold feeling in my stomach, almost anticipation, thought what could possibly be in store for me here?

That mystery will have to wait, for we can see Netherfield on the horizon now. Even I will admit, it is by no means shabby or unruly. Evidently, Charles’s staff has come ahead of us and tidied the place up significantly. While the house itself is much smaller than Pemberley, it has an air of regality and class that rest of the landscape doesn’t seem to emit. We all fall silent, in judgement or admiration. I shall write more later, but the carriage is slowing and it’s time for Charles’s adventure to truly begin.


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Diary, 

Never in my life would I thought it was possible for news of our arrival to travel faster here than it would have in London. It would not have been an exaggeration for me to record that within an half hour of the carriage wheels stopping in the driveway, we had our first supposed “well-wishing” neighbor. After hearing the same speech about the beauty and amiability of that person’s daughter’s three times over, I hid myself away in the library to attend to more serious, pressing business, but unfortunately, the escape from the horrid rituals of social engagement may be short lived. I’m delaying the inevitable foray into crude conversation by recording this. Charles may have the talent of conversing easily with complete strangers, but I certainly do not. It is simply intolerable to feign interest in the trivial lives of these ultimately important and uneducated people, who talk at great lengths and yet say so little. Yet Charles seems to actually delight in it, which I cannot bring myself to comprehend. He’s likely out there right this moment, exchanging advice on how best to care for one’s cattle, as if Charles actually interacts with bovines on a daily basis. It’s astonishing that Charles and I are friends at all, for we are the most unlikely pair. In a way, I suppose our differences are what brought us so strongly together. Regardless of the meaning behind our friendship, I’m eternally grateful for it. So grateful in fact, I will extract myself from the peace and quiet of the library to sit vigil the the endless stream of triviality that my friend is drowning in.


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Diary, 

As I feared, the visits lasted up until dinner. Not to mention the dinner conversation was entirely made up of Charles’s account of the visits to Caroline, Louisa and Mr Hurst, who abhorred such a retelling more than even I did. I must keep reminding myself I’m here only in support of my friend, and such petty judgements stand in the way of that duty, but honestly, how many times can that man tell the story of Lady Woster’s petunias before he goes blue in the face? However, the visit he was most excited by was one I was present for, from a Sir William Lucas, who invited us to a ball he is holding three days hence. Of all the callers we had today, I must admit he was the least irritating. I suppose it was his smattering of nobility that granted him at least minimal manners, as he kept his visit prompt and simple. Though he didn’t leave without mentioning the marital status of his daughters. Nuptials, or lack thereof, seem to be a common topic in this area, often quite blatantly reiterated to both Charles and I once it is discovered neither of us are betrothed. One man, a Mr. Bennet, after a lengthy discussion with Charles on both the flora and fauna to be found near Netherfield, rather sheepishly mentioned his five single daughters. Five daughters, all unmarried! Upon hearing such a statement, I nearly choked on my tea. When I inquired further, more out of concern than curiosity, I discovered that they have all been presented into society and none have had any prospects of marriage in the near future. I was appalled. A situation such as this would never be tolerated in London, or any corner of the civilized world, I daresay. 

I don’t mean for these entries to sound like those of a spoiled child’s, but the dull nature of the people and the landscape here will likely drive me mad. I must write to Georgiana to see if there is any news at Pemberley that could draw me away from this wretched place. It does me no pain to admit I do not share Charles’s excitement at the prospect of an upcoming ball. The mere thought of a room full of unmarried, desperate girls without a hint of prospects makes me nauseous. Not to mention lack of such social engagements were an essential part why I was convinced to come along on this “adventure” in the first place. However, I feel it is my solemn duty to forge into battle, for the sake of Charles’s future, lest he find himself caught up with an unknown and unconnected girl only after his fortune.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy's rundown of the Meryton Ball. Suffice to say that it's not a positive review by any means. 
> 
> There's direct dialogue stealing from this point on, so be warned. But hooray for more words!!

Dear Diary, 

As I suspected, the ball was a disaster, chaotic and all together unenjoyable. An endeavor to convince Charles of this fact would be in vain however, as of this morning he still has yet to cease recounting the events in excruciating detail. 

When we arrived at the Lucas Manor, the ball had already begun, and one could barely hear the instruments above the din coming from within. The poor excuse for a ballroom seemed to house every soul in Hertfordshire, though the women outnumbered the men five to one, leaving no chance to move about without making oneself known to a number of women sitting alone. To make matters worse, it seemed that everyone knew exactly who we were and what our business was in town. Or at least they thought they knew. The whispers, ripe with rumors and gossip, were palpable from the minute we stepped foot inside. I found myself determined to not let my discomfort be a subject of the scrutiny and thought I might demonstrate to the assembled crowd what real manners looked like, so I strode through with my head held aloft. I made eye contact with no-one, save for a single moment when I was diverted by a soft titter on my right. The sound was so distinct from the whispers that surrounded it I could not help but glance in that direction. It came from a girl in a deep green dress who, like those around her, dipped into a respectful curtsy at our presence. I was unprepared for her eyes meeting mine as she rose back up and I quickly glanced back to the path before me. Once again I heard the same sound of laughter behind us. This irked me more than the hushed judgments. Who did this ignorant girl think she was, to find amusement instead of respect in my presence? Were wealth and actual prospects comical in the context of her disparity, or was she altogether unaware of my well-known illustriousness? In retrospect, it is possible I overreacted to this miniscule detail of observation, but nevertheless, the laugh bothered me in an inexplicable fashion. Our small party arrived at the other side of the ballroom, whereupon the musicians broke the silence and chaos ruled once more. 

It was not two minutes later that she and her companions were nearly dragged over to us by a short and very determined looking woman. Following behind was another girl and, to my surprise, Mr. Bennet from the other day! Even before proper introductions were made, I had surmised the girl in green to be none other than one of the numerous Bennet sisters. Sir Lucas, addressing Charles more than anyone else, called out each by name as they sunk into a polite curtsy. His own daughter Charlotte first, then Mrs. Bennet, Jane, the oldest and easily the most beautiful of the sisters and Elizabeth, who was struggling to keep the grin from her features. Mary, the youngest, seemingly more disgusted at the surroundings than I, stood with her father in the back. According to Mrs. Bennet, the other two were engaged elsewhere. 

My focus kept shifting over to Miss Elizabeth, as if pulled by an invisible thread. It wasn’t as if she was stunningly handsome like her sister. There was something in the way she looked at us, unafraid and with a hint of that smile at the edges of her mouth, as if we’d told her a joke but she wasn’t supposed to laugh. It was disconcerting in the least, and l felt more out of my element under her gaze than walking through the assembled crowd. 

Caroline and I later sequestered ourselves to a corner, where we could observe the scene without having to participate in it. Charles, however, was entirely in his element, smiling and making small talk with the eldest Bennet sisters. Any passerby could easily see that he was immediately infatuated with Jane, hardly glancing away from her even if his words were directed at someone else and stumbling clumsily through sentences like a newborn. It took him all of five minutes to ask her for the next dance. Charles is by no means arrogant or conceited, much of my admiration for him is due to his humility and generosity, but to see him so taken in by a girl was unprecedented. I was so focused on watching him dance with Jane, I didn’t noticed that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had approached us until I felt Caroline curtsy next to me. Taken aback, I hastily bowed and greeted her shortly. She was still smiling, but now it was brighter and emanated from her eyes.   
“I do hope you two are enjoying the ball and Meryton as much as Charles has been,” she said. Before I could answer, Caroline interjected, dryly stating.   
“It’s certainly different from what we’re used to, Miss Bennet”  
“Yes, I imagine Hertfordshire must seem like an entirely different world compared to town”   
“Different would be quite the understatement.” At this point I decided that my opinions had no place in this conversation and focused my attentions again to Charles and Jane. So engrossed was I in noting their every move, I was only startled out of my reverie at the rustle Caroline’s skirts made as she glided away, leaving Miss Bennet and myself on our own. Immediately I felt as if my stomach had disappeared from this earth, leaving my heart pounding in my chest. As I have written countless times before, I am unequivocally useless at conversing with strangers and though Miss Bennet had considerably irked me, that particular subject was unlikely to be breached. There hung an uncomfortable silence between our bodies while I willed myself to conjure up something to say.   
“How are you finding your stay at Netherfield, Mr Darcy?” She asked quickly, incapable of remaining quiet any longer. Just as before, she looked me right in the eye, and I felt as if she had impossible powers of observation, and could understand me better than I could myself. This feeling was wildly unsettling and to counteract it I broke eye contact to gaze straight ahead.   
“I am finding it perfectly pleasant, Miss Bennet” I answered.   
“How long have you and Mr. Bingley been friends?”   
“Nearly three years now”  
“He is quite...perfectly pleasant company, isn’t he?” If I had been brave enough to look at her at that moment, I was certain I would have seen another smile fight to remain undetected. I did not possess such courage, however, and simply acknowledged my affirmation with a barely imperceptible nod. Restricted to silence once more, we both watched the twirling and happy dancers. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that her eyes were watching Miss Jane as closely as I watched Charles.   
“Do you dance, Mr. Darcy?” The question was uttered so fast and unexpectedly I sputtered out the first thing that came to my mind.   
“Not if I can help it.” I answered with an unintended brusqueness and finality. For a moment, she looked almost hurt, but that was quickly replaced with an awkward smile. Another brief moment of silence and then she walked away. I was less than surprised, but strangely disappointed. Left standing there, quite alone in the swirling masses, I could feel a heavy emptiness left in her absence.   
So discouraged was I over this encounter, I made active effort not to engage in any further conversations with strangers, committing myself to the same corner for the remainder of the night. Such behavior is so commonplace for me in London it draws no suspicion, but here my inactivity was perceived in the same way as if I had killed someone’s dog.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More on the Meryton dance, as Darcy conveniently forgot to include a rather pivotal scene I know we all adore. Lots more dialogue stealing from the 2005 film I'm afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait a little longer to upload this installment so I could get farther ahead with the next and you all wouldn't have to wait so long. But, the response has been so encouraging, especially because it's one of my first fics ever, so I'm forging ahead! There might be a little bit of a wait for the next entry, as finals season is upon me, but keep checking in. I ardently adore and love you, dear reader!

Dear Diary, 

Little has happened here at Netherfield, with the sole exception of Caroline sending a letter to Miss Jane Bennet inviting her to dine here tomorrow. From what I understand, Charles and I are not to be anywhere near the house during this time, which disappoints him and inconveniences me. 

With the lack of news, I am forced to turn my thoughts back to the night of the ball, as I have remembered two other noteworthy incidents in that whirlwind of an evening. I didn’t detail these before, as they cast a rather unfavorable light upon myself. However, on further reflection, I have decided that must be recorded. I wish to provide an accurate account of our time here, even if that account is not always positive towards me. 

Though it would be altogether improper for Charles to dance any more than two sets with Miss Jane, everything in his expression and body language indicated his most ardent desire to remain close to her. When Miss Jane was swept away by another gentleman, Charles politely asked a delighted Miss Charlotte to dance. Despite their separation, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her, so distracted by her gaiety that he tripped over several other dancers and turned the wrong way more than once. Miss Elizabeth was dancing as well and unabashedly laughing, head thrown back in ecstasy. It was a scene to behold, with none of the structure and mannerism of a London ball, but with servers weaving through the crowd at an alarming rate, screeching laughter ringing up to the rafters and copious unsupervised small children afoot stealing all manner of sweets. I even thought I glimpsed a dog! If I wasn’t so aware of the sweat coating my back and the pain in my foot from several passersby clumsily stepping on it, I would have thought myself either transported to the colonies or in the midst of a grotesque nightmare. When the lively dance ended, I made my way slowly through the crowd with demure purpose, doing my best not to make my presence known. Mrs. Bennet however, made no such effort. She is the kind of woman that not only emanates gossip and scandal, but actively seeks it out wherever she goes. I found Charles grinning after Miss Jane’s retreating figure, so engrossed that it took him a full minute to even notice my presence.   
“Darcy! I didn’t see you there old chap! You always move so gracefully, as if you were a ghost or some elegant lady. You must pass that knowledge onto me someday”   
“You wish to walk in a way similar to that of a lady?” I answered, amused.   
“Whyever not? The grace and style of it is enviable. I can’t imagine how much one must practice to achieve such qualities. Or, I wonder is it one of those traits naturally possessed by only the finest of humans?” He was again, staring in the direction that Miss Jane had gone, “Ah! Some things are best left to the angels!” He turned back to me, “Come Darcy, let us fetch a drink!” I nodded in agreement, eager to detach myself from the crowd.   
“You seem to be enjoying yourself very much,” I mentioned as we moved away from the stomping feet.   
“Oh I am! I must say, I am quite at ease here in Hertfordshire. The people are lively and joyous and there is an air of delight here I never experienced in London,” We made our way into a side room, much less populated, to my ardent relief, as Charles continued his reverie, “and this ball! I have never seen so many pretty girls in my life!”  
“You were dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” I remarked, knowing where this conversation was headed. Like just about every inhabitant of England, Charles has long been committed to finding me a wife, a subject I have never had an interest in discussing. The ladies of London, even the highest classes of them, were all so fixated on trivialities like ribbons and curls, I could never even feign interest in their conversations. I cannot even begin to imagine the commonplace topics of discussion the impoverished and undereducated women of Hertfordshire engage in, and have no desire to find out. I hoped turning the topic back to Miss Jane would distract Charles from his obvious intentions, and I was nearly successful.  
“She is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld,” He beamed, stopping in his tracks as if his words meant more from a stationary position. Expecting him to go on about Miss Jane’s numerous amiable qualities, I glanced around to ensure neither Miss Jane, Mrs. Bennet nor Caroline were present to hear his exultations. Alas, he pressed onto a much less appealing topic, “but her sister, Elizabeth, is quite agreeable,” Without hesitation or care for my words, I answered with the sole intention to banish the thought from his mind.   
“Perfectly tolerable, I daresay. But not handsome enough to tempt me,” I said shortly, “You’d better return to you partner and enjoy her smiles. You’re wasting your time with me” I strode away, quite peeved that even in the backwoods of England, Charles still insisted that I needed the company of a woman, and Miss Elizabeth at that! The girl who had no respect for either authority nor manners and found all forms of structure laughable. Even if I was to overlook the nature of her disrespect, there was still the matter of her rank and lack of fortune! Not to mention the immense and incessant rumors that would begin if I merely approached her. It was unthinkable, to say the least. 

Alas, my troubles were far from over. After Charles had caught up with me to apologize for his intrusive words, we found ourselves, once again, surrounded by Bennet women. The matriarch of this family unapologetically and unabashedly made many overt clues to her daughter’s current--but nevertheless fleeting--unattachment. Caroline and Louisa could hardly keep their derisive laughter quiet as they stood at enough distance not to be associated with the conversation, but still close enough to hear. The eldest Bennet daughters, however, were far from laughter, as they tried a number of times to turn the topic to more innocent and humiliating subjects, though all the efforts were in vain. After the fifth attempt or so, Miss Elizabeth looked as if she was on the cusp of an impolite outburst when Miss Jane caught her eye and squeezed her hand, shaking her head imperceptibly as if to say, It’s not worth it. Recognizing the telepathic bond of sisterhood immediately, my thoughts turned to Georgiana and how much I knew she longer for such companionship. The Bennets may be impoverished in material wealth, but the familial bond among them is something I can never recreate for my sister. Suddenly and strangely, I felt envious of them. 

Though Mrs. Bennet’s dedication to the topic of marriage was embarrassing, it was nothing close to the verbal lashing I was about to receive. The conversation ensued from the subject of Charles’s many dance partners that evening.   
“You dance wonderfully, Mr Bingley! How ever did you learn such lightness of foot? I suppose it is a technique only understood by those who have studied under the masters in London! It is a pleasure to observe!” Mrs. Bennet enthused, “All the girls here would likely throw themselves in front of a carriage for the mere chance to dance with you! And yet, you have danced with my Jane twice!”   
“He has enjoyed the company of a great number of other partners as well Mama,” Miss Jane remarked quietly.   
“Indeed, he has,” intercut Miss Elizabeth, “Pray tell Mr. Bingley, which among us country bumpkin girls is the best dancer?”   
Charles laughed in his natural good-natured way, “Well firstly, Miss Elizabeth, I heartily disagree with your comparison of yourselves to ‘country bumpkins’, for every girl I have had to pleasure of dancing with has been just as lovely as the finest of London. However,” and here he paused with a nervous, darting glance at Miss Jane and added quietly, “some were more angelic than others” It was quiet for a long moment as most of the group tried to hide their glee. Charles broke the silence with a stutter, “and--for example--your friend Miss Lucas is a most amusing young woman!”   
Glad that conversation had turned itself in a safer direction, Miss Elizabeth agreed vigorously, “Oh yes, I adore her!” It was at this moment that Mrs. Bennet cut back in. Heaven forbid she allow the topic of conversation get away from her.   
“It is a pity she’s not more handsome” It was spoken quietly, almost under her breath, but with the full intention that others would hear it. She ignored Elizabeth’s chastising ‘Mama!’ and continued, “Oh, but Lizzie would never admit that she’s plain. Of course, it's my Jane who is considered the beauty of the country,” More cries of ‘Mama, please’ from a thoroughly humiliated Jane, would not deter her, “When she was but fifteen there was a gentleman so much in love with her I was sure he would make her an offer,” she trailed off briefly, her gaze fixed pointedly on a clearly uncomfortable Charles, “However, he did writer her some very pretty verses…”  
“And that put paid to it,” Miss Elizabeth interrupted with a hand on her mother's arm, either unaware of the impropriety in talking over one’s elders or desperate enough not to care, “I wonder who discovered the power of poetry in driving away love”   
Those gathered laughed in relief at her diverting joke. I did not, though I was quite in awe at her deft ability to turn the tide of conversation away from her sister, though acknowledged it must be a result of some years of practice. Her comment surprised me however, as I had thought that all country girls judged their romantic entanglements through the preposterous and unimaginative lens of the “pretty verses” written to them by country boys.   
“I thought poetry was the food of love,” The rebuttal stumbled out of my mouth before I could stop it. She regarded me with neutral indifference, twisting her hands before her. Georgiana made a similar motion whenever she was upset or uneasy, though I couldn’t tell if Miss Elizabeth’s motivations were at all similar. In fact, her expression indicated nothing as to either her gratitude or dismay at my comment.   
“Of a fine, stout love it may,” She replied, without taking even a moment to consider her response, “ but if it is only a vague inclination I am convinced one sonnet will kill it stone dead”   
“So what do you recommend, to encourage affection?” I responded, with a brief glance to Charles on my left. He was staring at me as if I’d sprouted horns. Never had he seen me take an interest in idle conversation, most especially those that involved strangers, poetry, love, women or any combination thereof. Not wishing to fully meet his gaze, I turned my attentions back on Miss Elizabeth, who was smiling widely now, an expression of superiority and comeuppance plainly displayed upon her face. In that moment, I could not have guessed at the meaning behind such a look, but I was about to find out.   
“Dancing,” She replied after a brief moment, “even if one’s partner is barely tolerable” I felt all the breath leave my body as simultaneously an invisible, bitter and cold fist closed around my insides. How in the world could she possibly know? Just how astute were her powers of observation? Likely enjoying my look of absolute confusion, the triumphant lady knew there could be no coherent reply on my behalf, and so turned haughtily on her heel and walked away. So secure was she in her victory she did not even curtsy. Whatever conversation ensued from that point onwards I was entirely oblivious to, as I could do nothing by stare mutely in the direction she went, half in awe, half in humiliation. 

I know it was wrong of me to make such a blunt and rude remark towards a lady, but I never meant for my words to reach her ears! It was only an attempt to stymie the conversation from pertaining to my romantic prospects, a conversation I still never wish to have. The more I think on it, however, Miss Elizabeth is far more than tolerable. She could even be considered amiable, now that her powers of conversation have been revealed. It is only her rank, her circumstances and the embarrassing nature of her family that makes her undesirable. It is true that I was perhaps too harsh. However, I am no more to blame than the truly epic feats of gossiping present in this town. I have grossly underestimated the inhabitants ability to spread everything they overhear, and so I have resolved never to open my mouth unless absolutely necessary.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane arrives at Netherfield, Caroline is beyond upset and Darcy takes this time to pout about Lizzie's burn and be oh so judgmental about his friend's love life. Basically Darcy in his finest form.

Dear Diary, 

Miss Elizabeth’s humiliating remark has scarcely left my mind in the hours since we left the ball. Every detail of the situation seems to be seared into my brain, the sweat running down my back, the restlessness of her hands, the lively fire in her eyes. She is dreadfully smart, I am afraid. Not many women would have the gall to stand up to a man of much higher rank. It is a stunningly damaging quality, and yet she displays it so willingly! She will have much trouble making an advantageous marriage if she treats others in a similarly blunt and cruel fashion. 

I suppose that I cannot blame her for shaming me in such a way, but I only wish it hadn’t been so dreadfully public. The only conceivable way she could have known what I said is if someone had overheard my words to Charles and relayed that information to her. God knows how many ears it reached before resting on hers, or how many she spread it to after. Gossip is a universal vice, as poisonous here as it is in London. I could not say which place I prefer. How I long to back in the safe confines of Pemberley, with staff and family who understands my penchant for solitude and order. 

Miss Jane arrived here yesterday afternoon, thoroughly soaked from the torrential downpour that made itself known that morning. Why on earth her mother chose to send the creature on horseback instead of by carriage is beyond all logistical comprehension. Quite predictably, she fell ill within minutes of her meal with Caroline, and will undoubtedly be bedridden for at least three days. A letter has been sent to inform the Bennets of both her condition, and the doctor’s recommendation that she remain here to rest. I sincerely doubt anyone has been so overjoyed to hear continuous coughing and sneezing than Charles. It would be an understatement to mention Caroline does not feel the same way. As I write, he is pacing back and forth across the library, torn between checking in on Miss Jane for the tenth time in less than an hour and jumping up and down in glee. His sister is fuming over a book, back pointedly turned to us. The scene is about as distracting as it is amusing.

Particularly amusing and perhaps a little sobering is Charles’ oblivion to the purpose behind Caroline’s antagonism. As much as I actively avoid agreeing with Caroline on any subject, lest she be further encouraged, her intentions of separating Charles from Miss Jane may be necessary. The lady’s characteristics are not detrimental, her family is rather the larger issue here. Any association with such a hodgepodge of embarrassing and impolite people would be severely unfortunate for the Bingley name and reputation. His parents would surely turn over in their grave if such a match were to be made! The more I think on it too, the more I suspect his affections may actually run deeper than hers. Though Charles does not need an advantageous marriage to lead a settled and content life, Miss Jane most certainly does. It may be that her family is pushing her to secure Charles’s hand in order to secure their own future. I’ve seen this lead to many unfortunate pairings before, and it only further adds to the list of reasons I did not wish to journey so far from the Ton. I will resolve to watch them even more closely to ensure that a similar fate does not befall him. Charles cannot know of my suspicions however, for he is far too idealistic and blind to the antagonistic intentions others may have towards him due to his wealth. The poor fellow, so ignorant in his kindness. 

If love is blind, as the poets rave, then I daresay it may also have the habit of being foolish and misleading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter again, I do apologize! I'm very much steering away from the events of the book, but the concise nature of the movies is easier to reflect upon and write from as I've found. Not much Lizzie in this installment either, but I have many, many plans for the next chapter, including some orginal Darcy/Lizzie interaction!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy, as always! Leave a comment if you feel inspired to! I adore hearing from you all, it truly makes my day. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth's arrival at Netherfield, featuring a very flustered Darcy. Poor man, he knows not what is in store for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely readers, it is so good to be back! I apologize for the giant lack of additions, finals season very solidly beat me senseless and I am only just now nursing my creativity back to health. Lots in store for these characters, as I estimate Lizzie stayed at Netherfield for perhaps a week, which gives me ample time to ramp up the tension for the famous hand flex moment. As always, leave your impressions in the comments. I love hearing from you!

Dear Diary, 

Just as I was growing accustomed to Netherfield’s isolation from Meryton, my peace, solace and protection has been torn from me. We have received yet another Bennet visitor, Miss Elizabeth. She arrived mid-morning, just as Caroline and I were finishing breakfast in the day room. Charles was out, attempting to track down a particular medicine the apothecary had recommended for Miss Jane. Caroline was derisively reading from some banal letter received earlier while I attended to the paper. Such is our typical morning routine, though it's usually interrupted by Charles and his enthusiastic comments. Even when the footman entered to announced the arrival of a Ms. Elizabeth Bennet, I was not entirely paying attention, enjoying the relative silence and absorbed in an troubling notice about the transfer of a the militia to the area. In fact, I registered the name of our visitor only after she entered the room. One glance at her and it was evident she had walked from Longbourn. Her unfastened hair fell below her shoulders as if she was not in the presence of others, wavy and wispy at the ends. Her cheeks were flushed from the cool morning air that accompanied the journey, but her eyes were bright and a little wary at the scene before her. She had no pretense of fashion, no attempt at competing with the splendor of the room. Without logic or understanding, I was overcome with her sudden likeness to the lithe, adept nymphs of bedtime stories told to children. Hastily I rose to my feet, realizing my lack of propriety, breath catching in my throat and chest refusing to rise steadily. I found such a loss over my own bodily functions altogether embarrassing, yet couldn’t tear my eyes away from the creature that stood before me. 

“Good Lord, Miss Elizabeth did you walk here?” Caroline’s barely veiled disgust cut through the echoing silence of the room. A solemn but cheerful, ‘I did’ was her reply. I knew now was the proper time for me to extend my sympathies at her sister’s illness or inquire to to her family’s health, but I remained ever stoic, just as Caroline remained ever disgusted. Whether it was humiliation at her remark that remained seared into my mind, or my inability to tear my consciousness from her eyes, I could not say. So again, silence became an awkward fourth member of the conversation.

“I’m so sorry, where is my sister?” The lady, visibly uncomfortable, inquired.   
“She’s upstairs,” I responded barely after the question was posed. Those eyes turned to me, and I realized just how misplaced my eagerness was. Her brow briefly furrowed in confusion, taken aback at my sudden and unprecedented contribution. For a moment, her mouth drew back into a startled half-smile and I felt my breath once again stop.   
“Thank you,” she curtsied and left the room. Still completely at a loss for sophisticated words or action, I watched her hurry towards the stairs.   
With a little more than an attempt at concern, Caroline simpered, “My goodness, did you see her hem, six inches deep in mud. How positively medieval.” With a start, I realized I had no earthly clue as to the state of her clothes, so transfixed were my eyes to her face. Unsettled, I finished the meal and made my way to the study with a sudden urge to chronicle such an encounter. On my way, I encountered Charles. 

“Darcy! I’ve found it!’ He stated proudly, holding aloft a small bag as if it were a trophy pheasant. “Took me nearly half the morning, but it also gave me the opportunity to meet more of the lovely people of Meryton. When I told them who it was for, they didn’t hesitate to detail Miss Jane’s many illustrious qualities, chief among them her patience and kindness.”   
“Charles,” I said, “Don’t you think it will stir up nasty rumors as to the nature of the relationship between yourself and Jane when the entire town discovers she’s staying here?”   
He was silent for a moment, weighing this new caveat to his otherwise triumphant morning, “I suppose I never considered that they could be capable of saying such unpleasant words about Jane!”   
“You are much too inclined to see only the good in people Charles. You must be wary. Especially in a town as small as this, the combination of your lack of a wife and abundance of your fortune make you into a target for speculation and gossip. Now that Miss Jane is incapacitated here, such talk will grow.”   
“Darcy, what are you implying?”  
“I’m only asking you to be cautious. The intentions of this girl and her family may not be as wholesome as you have been led to believe”  
He laughed, and clasped my shoulder, “You, my dearest friend, are far too cynical and quick to judge the Bennets. We’ve only been here a fortnight! I’ve seen nothing that concerns me and I have to say Darcy--” His next thought, whatever it was, was interrupted by laughter from upstairs. I recognized the sound immediately, so often had I played it back in my mind. Charles saw the look on my face as well as the sudden stiffness of my limbs and grinned impishly. “Do we have an undisclosed visitor, Darcy?”   
“Miss Elizabeth has come to call on her sister,” I answered gruffly.   
“How wonderful! Another one of the delightful Bennets! Surely, Darcy you cannot imagine Miss Elizabeth’s intentions to be cruel or insidious?” At a loss for what to respond and suppressing the urge to extend a rude gesture to the knowing look on my friend’s face, I continued to the study without a word. 

As I sit here, reflecting upon my actions, or rather, lack thereof, I do not know whether to be shocked or angry at my own loss of function. I’ve never been capable of easy conversation, but my dislike of strangers and social gatherings has never meant I did not have control over my choice of words. I’m uncomfortable in the presence of those I am not acquainted to, but never helpless in such a way. If I am to be angry, whom would my anger best be directed at, myself or Miss Elizabeth? Is it logical to blame someone who is wholly unaware they are affecting you in such a way? In fact, where is the logic in being angry at either? For the first time since adolescence, I find myself completely at a loss for how to proceed. The path has always been clear before me, the right and wrong illuminated in separate lights. Miss Elizabeth has twisted them together, and I cannot figure why, or how I should go about detangling them. 

If there’s one thing I am certain of, her presence here will only serve to confuse my thoughts further.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy reflects on his new and unwelcome feelings to the new guest at Netherfield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My updates on this are so overdue, my deepest DEEPEST apologies. I know I say that everytime, but please know I mean it everytime as well. Turns out all I need to do to get the creative juices flowing is scroll through P&P blogs on Tumblr, who knew? Enjoy the chapter and as always, let me know what you think in the comments!

Dear Diary, 

Fate seems to have a fickle sense of humor. It seems the one similarity between the disparaging, sharp-tongued Miss Bennet and I is our penchant for reading and solitude. This means whenever I desire to escape the annoyances and dredging conversations that seem to habitually accompany Caroline, I end up in an altogether different, though no less terrifying, hell. For in the library, once a sacred place to be alone, is now a cultivator of dangerous thoughts towards Miss Elizabeth, thoughts that are altogether uncivilized for a man of my position and fortune to be fixated upon. Nevertheless, the mere presence of her, curled up in an armchair, head propped up on her hand, brows furrowed in concentration as she reads, is enough to drive me wild with distraction. It would be entirely different if it was at all apparent she felt similarly, but that has not been evident. Most of the time, she is too caught up in her book to even notice my presence. This only frustrates me further. In what perverted universe is my unsolicited interest in a woman unreturned and unacknowledged? If this were any other town or any other woman for that matter, any sign of affection or mere interest on my part would begin a veritable storm of thinly veiled advances and compliments from the lady in question. In the past, this alone has been enough to quell any semblance of feeling or desire to return said compliments. Miss Elizabeth, on the other hand, seems ignorant of such demonstrations of affection. I’m inclined to discard this theory, for she has already proven herself to be quite smart and mindful of that which happens around her. Her intelligence and fortitude becomes more evident to me the more time I spend with her, even when these instances only occur in silence. However, she seems wholly unaware of her effect on me. On the other hand, it is entirely possible that I am the one at fault. I am not a confident or outgoing person like Charles, such that even my most forward actions may seem meaningless to others. This is preferred, because if my feelings (a shudder goes through me even to acknowledge them as such) were clearer, she would likely use them against me in order to either humiliate me further or benefit from my wealth and stature. This may be the sole time my shy nature plays in my favor. 

She has been our guest for three days now and we have fallen into an uncharacteristic rhythm, if it can be called that. I return from my morning ride just when she returns from her walk and without fully intending to, we accompany one another to breakfast. Here, we are accosted by Caroline’s disapproving eyes and thinly veiled insinuations. Miss Elizabeth dismisses these remarks so easily I almost think she is unaware of their intentions. As soon as it is polite, she excuses herself from the table to see to her sister. Charles waits only half a moment longer before heading in the same direction, always trying to make it seem as if his destination was not the same each time. I must not let my current distractions deter me from my task of ensuring dear Charles does not fall into a social trap. While the three of them can be heard laughing all throughout the house, (a sound which irks both Caroline and I), I take care of correspondence before making my way into the library. Netherfield’s is one of the finest in the country, and though it is splendid, it barely holds a candle to the one at Pemberley or any of those in town. I am alone for a maximum of a half hour before Miss Elizabeth enters as well. If I am in plain view, she will greet me politely, and I will respond, too frightened to look at her directly. From this point on, the afternoon unfolds itself in silence, with only the turning of the pages and the snap of the fire slicing through the quiet. She reads with an intensity, the likes of which I have scarcely seen before, sometimes as if she is lion following its prey, and sometimes softly and full of care, like a mother watching her child play. Her reactions to the stories she consumes are often written so plainly on her face one could infer the trajectory of the plot just by studying her features. She reads fast too, eyes flitting over line after line, hunger in the way her fingers turn the pages. I believe I am so fascinated by this because it reflects what I find pleasing: fierce beauty that is poised to surprise you at every turn. 

My consistent and vexing admiration of her better qualities propels me to balance out affection with disapproval, therefore I have also painstakingly sought out her flaws, in snatches of conversation we share and that which I overhear between her and her sister, Charles, Caroline or the housemaids. Her faults are perplexingly startling, not what I would have guessed. Though she comes from a family of little consequence, she holds a great deal of pride, a fervent amount to say the least. It is mostly pride in her own character, but she is fiercely loyal to those she cares for and intolerable of any judgment laid upon them or herself. To individuals she dislikes, however, she is predispositioned to observe all their actions as unfavorable. Once wronged, there is little chance for redemption in her eyes. Like an person with near-sighted vision, the wrongs and follies of her loved ones are imperceptible, while those she keeps at a distance are crystal clear, perhaps even embellished. 

Needless to say, I do not find myself among the former category. Though she is not rude, it is clear that I did not make a favorable impression at the Meryton Town Hall. Such an offense I may never recover from. To be truthful, I am not sure whether I would rather remain in her contempt, or shift into her favor.


End file.
